


No Love Left to Waste

by edourado



Series: Hell's Kitchen Chronicles [73]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Oneshot, angsty, karedevil - Freeform, prompt, sick!Karen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 08:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11077890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edourado/pseuds/edourado
Summary: Matt finds out Karen is sick.





	No Love Left to Waste

Matt knew that he deserved what he got from Karen and Foggy these days. 

Everything that had happened that year was complicated. The presence of Elektra made him do some pretty stupid shit, like lying to his business partner and secretary, legal assistant, girlfriend. His friends. Yes, there was a ton of shit within himself he had to sort out.  Yes, Elektra did help him realise that he could not keep what he had going on up for much longer. Yes, everything was a mess. 

Yes, he fucked up. And no, it was not Foggy’s fault. Nor was it Karen’s.

He understood she needed time. She was not as mad as she had been, initially, once he explained, once he told her, once he came clean. She was hurt - didn’t tell him, but he could feel it. He felt it every time she moved or spoke or blinked or swallowed or tried to hide it.

She was not mad, but she was not too happy, either. They talked, she helped him, he helped her, she even smiled here and there. But it was still so strange, there was this huge gap that wasn’t there before.

That’s why he understood when he had to find out through Foggy that she was sick as a dog, caught too many times under the harsh winter weather.

“Why do you smell like chicken?” he had asked Foggy when they met in his fancy office on Wednesday, after hours.

“Oh”, he said, typing on his office computer. “I took some soup to Karen at lunch. She’s super sick, poor thing. Oh, shit, I’m in. I’m hacking my office. No big deal.”

They went to work after that, collecting important information Matt needed (well, Jessica needed), counting the minutes until the cameras started working again.

Almost two hours later, they walked out, Matt waving his cane around and holding Foggy’s arm, for the security guard’s benefit. No way the new goofy, technologically challenged and harmless looking guy and his blind friend had anything to do with the cameras powering down, right?

“So Karen’s sick?” he asked once they reached the sidewalk.

“Yeah”, Foggy confirmed. “I told her to take care of herself, but you know that one. Once she sets her mind on something…” 

Matt tried not to be obvious about the fact that he didn’t know about that.

“How you guys doing?” Foggy asked and Matt raised his brows, sighing.

“Ok, I guess.”

”Yeah, sure, that totally sounds true.”

“I don’t know, man”, he said. “I told her everything, she had a bunch of questions, I did my best to answer them, she understood. It’s just…”

“Not the same.”

“Yeah. And she’s not, like, lying to me or pushing me away or anything, but she’s… Closed off.”

They walked a few steps further.

“I think she needs some time, man. It’s a lot to process, what with Elektra and what happened between you guys and everything…”

“Yeah”, he said, feeling the wind pick up and sting his face. “Yeah, I know.”

Foggy got in a cab and Matt got in another. After giving his address to the driver, he sat back and thought about his current situation with Karen.

He knew, of course he knew, that seeing Elektra in his bed stung. And, after he told her and explained why she was there, it didn’t make it any better. Karen is an intelligent woman. She did not ask him further about their involvement, just took what he offered and that was enough for her to reach her own - the right - conclusions.

“We were not…” he had told her. “We were not involved, Karen, not anymore. She had been poisoned, Stick had just saved her life.”

She had stood there, hip against the empty office window, arms crossed, looking at him, thinking about it, not mad, not angry, listening, but closed off, reserved, hust, she was still very hurt.

“I believe you”, she said when he started promising her he was telling the true.

And, his senses always so sharp, he heard what she didn’t say.

“I actually don’t.”

And maybe his senses were super humanly sharp, but, in that moment, he wondered if Karen‘s were, too, since, even as he did not tell her of all the intimate moments he had shared with Elektra these past few months (the decoy kiss, the innuendos, the jokes, the mapping of each other’s scars, plans of running away together), she seemed to see them, to watch those moments as he remembered them.

Since then, that tension remained. For the rest of their talk, all throughout their next ones, even when she tried to act like it was OK, when he tried to tell himself he was imagining it.

Almost a year later and it was still there. And now she was sick,enough to miss work and enough to make Foggy use his lunch break to get her soup.

The cab left him in front of his building, and he climbed the stairs and walked through his own door in a haze.

A year ago, he would not have to find out by someone else. A year ago, he would have heard it in her voice, felt the extra heat of her skin, he would have known just by being in her presence.

Now, he didn’t know because she kept their contact to a minimum. And he couldn’t blame her, but accepting it was proving to be a challenge, too.

He changed into casual clothes and walked out again, hoodie over his head, hiding his face.

When Matt got to the corner of her street, he walked towards the alley that gave him access to her fire escape.

It didn’t take long for him to locate her. Her apartment was quiet, there was no movement, aside from her laboured breathing. She was in bed, surrounded by an armour made of blankets and pillows, almost fully asleep.

Matt thought about taking the main entrance, climbing the stairs and knocking, giving her the chance to refuse him. But she was warm in her bed, all tucked in, he didn’t want to make her move.

After that conclusion, the obvious, sound, right call would be for him to leave, call her tomorrow. But he was here and he could hear her and, he realized, his chest ached with her absence.

When he got to her window, he almost smiled. It was cracked open, a thin gap letting frigid air inside. She had been taken so many times, so many people have come for her, and here she was, leaving her window open while she lied there in her bed, ready for plucking.

Or, he noticed while opening it and swinging a leg inside, maybe not so ready. There was a gun inside her bedside table drawer, fully loaded.

Even if Matt couldn’t smell traces of gunpowder and strong coffee, he could smell Frank Castle’s influence.

Walking in and closing the window, he stood in place for a few seconds, debating if he should leave, if he should stay, if he should let her know he was there.

When she let out a series of sneezed and a moan like little cry, he swallowed and walked to her, until he was sitting on the edge of her bed, with her facing him, lying on her side, wrapped in her blankets like a fat burrito.

Matt took his hand to her hair and almost sighed when the strands moved against his fingers and his palm. He missed that feeling so much.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, groggy, half asleep, softly, after opening her eyes slowly.

“I heard you were sick”, he said, something in his chest tightening, he missed her so much. “Wanted to see if you were ok.”

Sniffing, Karen didn’t move or protest when his hand went to her face, thumb tracing her features.

“You shouldn’t leave your window open”, he said, something like warm water running inside him, relief, maybe, that she wasn’t kicking him out.

Her eyes closed, Karen chuckled.

“Frank said the same thing.”

He knew Frank had been there. By the feel of it, he was a regular visitor. But hearing her talk about him so casually, confirming what he already knew, it almost physically hurt him.

He was jealous, Matt realized.

“Was he the one that gave you the gun?” he asked, trying not to betray his feelings, his thumb still caressing her face.

“No, that’s mine”, she said, taking a hand from inside her blanket cocoon and wiping her nose with a crumpled tissue. “He just brought me a new box of bullets.”

He had a thousand things he wanted to say to that. Most of them, he knew very well, were just out of jealousy.

He knew Frank well, by now. Knew what he had done for her, how he had saved her, knew he was not dangerous to her. But the urge to go off and tell her to stay away from Frank at all times was there, on the tip of his tongue, because he’s dangerous, he’s unpredictable, unstable, his enemies are dangerous and powerful, she could become a target, he could-

“He made me a shitload of soup”, she said, hiding her face inside her blankets right after, a fit of cough overtaking her. “Shit, I hate this”, she said, and Matt couldn’t think about the extent of her relationship with Frank right now - he had no right to think about it.

“Have you been to a doctor, Karen?”

“It’s just a cold”, she said, rubbing her nose. “I don’t need a doctor.”

Sighing, Matt reached inside his pocket for his phone. He would much rather call Claire, but he took up so much for her free time as it was, and he knew she was busy with Luke tonight, one of Rand’s hires would have to do.

Karen complained when the doctor answered the phone and Matt asked if she could do a house call. She insisted that she didn’t need to see anyone, reaching out for more tissues, coughing and sneezing, freezing.

“You have a fever, Karen”, he said, hand on her forehead, so glad she didn’t bat it away. “It’ll be quick.”

He stood there while the older doctor examined her, stethoscope to her chest and back, measuring her temperature, asking questions.

“She needs a lot of rest, regular intake of fluids and healthy food”, she told Matt. “This is a prescription for some pills, the ones she’s taking won’t do much good”, she handed him the piece of paper. “Make sure she’s warm, but  you should let some air in.”

“Thank you, doctor”, he said, walking the woman to the door.

Matt closed the door and turned around to walk back to Karen’s bedroom. He found her sitting in bed, the covers away from her, the window open again.

“This is not helping, you know?” he said, walking to it and closing it, leaving the bare minimum for some air to come and ventilate the place.

“I don’t- she said, moving to get her hair out of her face. “I don’t feel comfortable. My body hurts.”

“I know”, he said, walking to her bed, not really knowing what to do.

What he wanted to do was sit by her and wrap her in his arms, touch her head to his chest and not let go of her until she felt better. But, given her aforementioned lack of comfort, cuddling him would be the very last thing she wanted to do.

“Are you hungry?” he asked instead and she sighed, annoyed.

“No. But I have to eat, I guess.”

“You do”, he said, moving to help her up, and it was such a small thing, but he wanted to smile when she accepted his hand. “We’ll warm up some of Foggy’s chicken soup”, he tried joking, lifting her from her bed slowly.

“Frank ate that”, she said, and he could swear he heard a hint of a smile in her voice. “Said he knew Foggy meant well, but ‘store bought shit it’s only gonna make you sicker’.”

“And then he made you soup?” Matt asked, trying not to betray annoyance.

“Yes. Like a ton of it.”

It was, indeed,  in a huge pot over her stove, and it actually smelled pretty nice. It was, Matt assessed, lukewarm.

He actually opened his mouth to ask if Frank did this a lot. Came in and made himself at home at her apartment, or if he cooked for her a lot. Ask what else he did. He doubted she would dignify his questions with answers, so he just closed it again.

“If you want to eat in bed, I can take it for you”, he offered after she groaned to sit on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Yeah, ok.”

Turning around, she walked out of the kitchen, sneezing twice on her way back to bed.

He took a bowl full of - surprisingly rich - soup for her, sitting at the foot of the bed while she ate. When he came back from the kitchen a second time, with a glass of water for her, he found her asleep, her breathing heavy and her skin still too warm.

Minutes later and he was closing the door after himself, running downstairs to the first drug store he could find to get her pills, along with some chocolate things he knew she liked. When he came back, she was still sleeping.

“Karen”, he called softly, a hand on her forehead, moving some hair away from her face. “You have to take your pills.”

“Hmm”, was all she said, before sniffing and going right back to sleep.

Sighing, Matt opened the boxes and had all the four pills she needed to take in his hand when he tried again.

“Karen. Come on, just take your pills and then you can go back to sleep.”

She took a deep breath and moved her arm from inside her blankets, asking for the pills, blinking. He gave her one by one, and she took sips of water to swallow them, and then turned around to go back to sleep when she was done.

“Can you dim the lights?” she asked. “It’s too bright.”

There was only one lamp on, on the bedside table near her window. Matt walked to it and switched it off, leaving the room in complete darkness - not that it mattered to him.

Walking outside to refresh her glass of water, he rested his hands on the counter and took a deep breath.

She doesn’t seem to mind having him in her space. Yes, being sick is taking up most of her attention, but given Karen’s history, he would think she’d put up some sort of fight. Maybe things are finally starting to go back to normal, they can go back to their normal, maybe they can-

Maybe…

Maybe him being there is of no consequence to her. Maybe the way things ended between them didn’t bother her anymore because she was over it. Maybe she didn’t have time to think about it, with Frank Castle stopping by and making her soup and going with her to meet a source for one of her stories or lingering around her long enough Matt could smell traces of her perfume on him when they met, sometimes, on random rooftops.

Maybe.

Even while he told himself not to do it, he focused on the inner walls of her apartment, on the traces left in the carpet, looking for signs that another pair of shoes walked around, looking for bigger clothes in her coat closet, looking for something that didn’t belong, looking for something.

He found plenty, but not enough.

There was a box of bullets, sealed, but she had told him Frank brought it for her. There was a first aid kit stocked with enough medicine and equipment to put a few nurses to shame. There was a dog leash inside a bag, and Matt does not remember Karen owning a dog.

Still. That proved nothing. And, even if it did, why was it any of his business.

With his attention back inside her bedroom, Matt listened and moved to make her a warm cup of tea. She was about to wake up.

Just in time, she started coughing when he was halfway to her bedroom again. 

After taking a few sips, Karen placed the cup on the bedside table and lied on her side, facing him, who sat on the floor by her bed.

She looked at him for a while and he felt her eyes wandering his face.

“Why are you here, Matt?” she asked, voice so small.

There were many answers to that. “Because you’re sick”, “Because I was worried”, “Because I miss you”. None of those, however, were the whole truth. 

“Because I lost you”, was what he said, sitting there on her floor, his back against the cold wall, glad the apartment was dark, so she couldn’t really see him that well. “And it’s killing me."

The “I don’t care” he said to Elektra when she expressed being sorry he lost everything rang loud in his ears, and he wondered again if Karen couldn’t read his mind.

She stayed silent for another few seconds and he could swear her eyes were drilling holes in his skin. 

“I lost you first.”

Matt felt his breathing changing, that something inside his chest tightening again.

“And it killed me, too. Because I didn’t know why it was happening.”

He didn’t need evidence of all that had gone wrong with them, he knew it all. Hearing her say it was not any easier because of it, though.

“That’s because you didn’t have me, then”, he admitted. “Not all of me.”

He wanted to move, to get up from the floor and climb in bed with her, hold her tight to him, make up for all the time they lost, all that time he could have had her, they could have had each other.

“Frank said I loved you”, she whispered and it was like a small, tiny electric shock inside him. “And maybe I thought I did. I don’t know.”

His hands closed in fists around nothing, but when she moved to get another sip of her tea, it unlocked him from his immobile state against the wall.

“There’s too much we don’t know about each other”, she continued. “Even if I did love you, it wasn’t the real you. Maybe it was the idea of you.”

When she placed the mug back down, he was sitting with his arm supported on her mattress, his chin on top of his own hand, and her face was close to his when she lied back down.

“I loved the idea of you, too”, he said, running the tip of his fingers on her hair, like he always wanted to do, always, always, since day one. “I didn’t take the time to know you for real. Only what you made me feel.”

She sighed and went on looking at his face in the dark.

“It wasn’t just you”, she said, so small, almost afraid. “I didn’t tell you a lot of things.”

He wanted to ask why not, but he felt as if his voice would shatter the spell.

“I don’t know if you would be able to love the real me”, she said, almost as if it was a secret, her voice small and tight.

His whole body ached to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and not let go anymore, for anything.

Instead, he just sat there on her floor, his fingers on her hair, trying to fix his life.

“The parts of you I know, I already love”, he said and it felt more like a confession than anything he had ever said in church.

“Is that why you’re here?” Karen asked again, taking his hand from her hair, wrapping her fingers around his palm.

Matt nodded, closing his eyes, resting his face against her mattress, silently asking for everything.

“And because I want to love all of you.”

After a moment, she moved and he raised his head.

“Come here.”

Slowly, he got up from the floor and slipped in bed with her. She kept a small distance, a gap between them, to be closed later, if they so decided.

“Remember when I told you about my brother?” she started, and Matt nodded, listening, his whole focus right there, everything beyond the limits of her bed, forgotten and ignored.

.:.

When he woke up, it was morning, the day was happening outside, loud and fast and cold. Karen had her face tucked in his chest, wrapped around her blankets, his arms tight around her, his chin resting at the top of her head.

She had told him a lot about her. About who she was, what had happened to her, what she had done, cried (even when she tried not to) and he had finally surrendered to that urge to press her to him, to hold and protect her from everything, that urge that she always rejected, she didn’t need his protection, but it was there, inside him, nonetheless.

Checking his wristwatch, there was still half an hour to go before she had to take her pills again. He should get up to get her some food, heat up the stupid soup Frank had made, make her eat.

Settling on the decision of five more minutes, he ran a hand on her hair one more time, that certainty inside of him intensifying with every passing second.

He loved all of her.


End file.
